Hermione Granger and the Sorcerer's Stone
by mysterygirl565
Summary: We all know the story of Harry Potter's feats and challenges. I thought it was time that the books were written from a girl's point of view. This is the story of Hermione Granger, with the Harry Potter series told through her eyes.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: OK, so I've already done some fics in 39 clues, but this is my first one in the Harry Potter section, so bear with me.**

**Hope you like it!**

**Oh, and by the way, I signed some papers with J.K. Rowling, and I actually do own Harry Potter now (Not really. Sarcasm was intended).****

* * *

****The Girl Who Lived**

"And there's your very own baby girl, Mrs. Granger," said a nurse as she handed the bundle over to the delighted mother. Her husband sat down beside his wife on her bed and gazed at his child, trying to except the fact he was now a father.

The newborn baby stared thoughtfully at both of her parents with inquisitive brown eyes. The bit of hair on her head was a light shade of brown, and she gurgled happily as her mother tickled her chin.

"She's beautiful," Mrs. Granger finally said. "She's the most beautiful baby in the world."

Mr. Granger nodded and then smiled at his new daughter. She stuck out one chubby hand to him, and gently he grasped it.

"What do you want to name her?" he asked his wife.

She shook her head. "I honestly have no idea."

The baby sighed contentedly in her mother's arms.

After gazing at her daughter for a few minutes, she looked at her husband. "You know, something about her seems…," she trailed off as Mr. Granger looked at her expectantly.

"…different. She seems - almost magical." Mrs. Granger laughed slightly at the foolish sound of her comment, Mr. Granger joining in with her.

"Darling, every mother thinks that about her child."

Mrs. Granger nodded, dismissing the odd idea. "Yes, yes, of course." She paused. "My child. I like the sound of that." She kissed her baby tenderly on the forehead. "She's intelligent, you can tell from her eyes."

Her husband looked closely at the baby. "Yes, definitely going to grow up to be a cunning, clever girl."

Mrs. Granger nodded. "Whatever her name is going to be, it must be unique."

"Sophie?" her husband suggested.

"No, that doesn't fit her. I think we should name her after a character from one of Shakespeare's plays."

"Juliet?"

"No, it seems too plain."

"Ophelia?"

"No, I - Hermione would be a perfect name, wouldn't it? It's derived from the Roman God Hermes, from the play 'A Winter's Tale.' Hermione Granger. I like the sound of that."

Mr. Granger smiled. "I like it, too," he said as he looked down lovingly at his daughter, Hermione.

And so the tale of Hermione Granger begins.

It was some time after that, when Hermione Granger was almost two years old, that something rather strange happened.

Mrs. Granger and her daughter had gone to the park, and while Hermione was playing on the slide, her mother had looked away for a few seconds, and when she looked back, she found Hermione…gone.

It took her only a few moments to locate her daughter again - she had run over to some strange group of people. Strange because they were a group of five men, each dressed in a vibrantly colored robe.

The mother ran over to them just as one of them had looked down and noticed the little girl.

"I'm so sorry, she wandered away. I hope she didn't bother you," Mrs. Granger said as she picked up her daughter. She honestly only wanted to get away from the odd men as quickly as possible.

"Don't be sorry. Today may be the greatest day of the world," answered one of the men cheerfully. "We are saved, all because of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. The dark days have now past us - You-Know-Who has gone. You may not understand, but -"

The man suddenly paused in his speech, which to Mrs. Granger seemed like complete gibberish, and looked closer at the girl nestled in her arms.

"She's not a Muggle. She's one of us," he suddenly said. The others seemed to be surprised at this and started gathering around him, trying to peer at Hermione.

"How do you know?" one of them asked.

"There is a sort of air about her," another added.

"She has potential," a third stated.

By now, the mother was thoroughly scared, and though she was tempted to push all of the strange men away from her child, she simply turned on her heel and started briskly walking away, close to running.

"You will know what we mean someday," one of the men called after her.

Mrs. Granger's heart only slowed down after she had reached her house, locked the door, and set her precious child down to sleep.

As she tucked Hermione into bed for her midday nap, Hermione sleepily asked, "Those people said I'm one of them. One of what, Mummy?" Her tired voice slurred the words.

Mrs. Granger tried to think of a quick answer but nothing came to mind. So she was forced to answer truthfully. "I'm not quite sure, darling."

Hermione accepted that as an answer as she closed her eyes and fell asleep immediately.

The mother desperately wanted to talk to someone about her odd experience, but when her husband came home several hours later, he had a strange story to tell himself.

"Owls!" was the first word he said when he walked through the door.

His wife frowned. "What in the world are you talking about, Harold?"

"Tons of owls everywhere! Literally everywhere. Sitting on buildings, on cars, and there were so many of them flying around that the sky was completely dark."

"But don't owls only fly during the night?" Mrs. Granger asked, perplexed.

"That's the whole point. No one can make heads or tails as to why they've suddenly all taken flight, because they're nocturnal birds." Then he muttered, almost as if to himself, "Strange day."

Mrs. Granger agreed wholeheartedly as she added in her own strange encounter. "They were saying something about a boy who lived - Harry Potter, I think they said, and that the dark days were past and we were all saved. And," she leaned in toward her husband and lowered her voice even though Hermione was fast asleep in bed, "they said something about Hermione being one of _them, _whoever _they _are. They said I would know what they meant someday."

Mr. Granger comforted his concerned wife. "There are always a few of those type hanging around the neighborhood - they either weren't mentally intact or were simply trying to scare you. Don't waste your time thinking about them. Just stay away from people like that next time."

Mrs. Granger nodded, soothed by his words. "Yes, you're right." And the conversation moved on from what a queer day it had been, and they started talking about the state of the economy, and the government, and about when Mrs. Granger would start looking for work again - she had quit to look after her young daughter.

Meanwhile, Hermione rolled over in her bed, ignorant to the flash of lights that had just exploded outside in the sky, which could be seen from her window, ignorant to the fact that the group of strange men she had met were very right in saying she was one of them, ignorant to the fact that she would indeed know what they had meant one day.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Exploding Glass**

Hermione Granger had always wanted to be normal. She had always wanted to fit in, but something about her had always been undeniably different. And you couldn't exactly say that she didn't have her quirks.

The way she looked was relatively normal - well, if you asked her she would say that she was relatively ugly, as she thought. She was slightly shorter than average height, and she had two overly large front teeth, which she hated. Her long brown hair, which she so yearned to be straight, was tremendously bushy, and when she tried to flatten it out, it only seemed to get all the more wild.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were loving, caring, attentive parents, and as Hermione reasoned, lucky, for they were both perfectly normal. Her parents were dentists, a job she considered rather boring.

Now, she did have her talent - her studies. She passed everything with flying colors, was the smartest in her grade, and in her class was seen as a know-it-all.

As you can imagine, because she was a know-it-all, she didn't have too many friends. But they had their reasons for avoiding her. She was always correcting and criticizing people. She held her head high and always seemed rather pompous. She took learning and studying to the extreme. But it wasn't only that.

Strange things happened when she was around, things that couldn't be explained. When she was angry, or upset, she caused weird occurrences. For example, in first grade, when Billy Jenkins had pushed her down on the playground, she had glared at him as hard as she could, and suddenly, as if someone had given him an invisible push, he fell down too. After scrambling up, he had looked at her oddly and run away.

And then in third grade, Tina Nettles had made fun of her bushy hair and had called her bucktoothed. In the middle of her laughing, Tina had put a hand to her own throat and opened and closed her mouth, almost as if she had lost her ability to speak. It apparently regained in a few minutes, after which Tina had presumed to call her an evil witch.

And so Hermione had been dubbed "the freak", the person to avoid and make fun of, and though Hermione always tried to act as if she didn't care that she was strange, and that it didn't hurt her that she had no friends, the comments always managed to wound her in some way.

It was one particular day that something unusually strange happened in Hermione Granger's fifth grade class.

The day itself was completely normal. It was warm outside, with light filtering through the windows, making the classroom uncomfortably stuffy. The only person who wasn't in the least bit of discomfort was the one ironically sitting farthest away from the windows and any chance of a breeze, in the middle of the first row - Hermione Granger herself.

"This is the equation: 54 + x = 75," the math teacher said. "Can anyone tell me what we must do to find the value of x? Anyone at all?" She said this as if she honestly believed someone other than Hermione, who was fervently waving her arm in the air, would raise their hand.

The math teacher's name was Miss Benson. She was a woman in her early thirties with bright, red, frizzy hair and glasses. She was a kind woman overall, and she always tried to give the other students a chance to answer the question before picking Hermione. The students, either asleep, in the process of falling asleep, or utterly bored, didn't take it.

Miss Benson sighed, not so much from annoyance as from disappointment.

"Hermione, perhaps you have an answer?"

"Of course she does," Sierra Windsor, the prettiest girl in the class, remarked lazily, loud enough for everyone to hear and for Hermione's cheeks to turn a light shade of pink.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione began talking as if she hadn't heard the comment.

"Well, to solve the equation 54 + x = 75, you would subtract 54 from both sides, therefore isolating the variable and making x equal to 21. If you wanted to further check your work, you would plug in 21 instead of x in the equation, only to find that 54 + 21 does indeed equal 75." Hermione said this all in a clear, loud, confident voice, but she failed to keep the bit of unhappiness out of it.

"Yes, Hermione. That is correct. X = 21. Now, next question…"

The next hour continued much in this fashion. It was at the very end that _it _happened.

"Alright, class, it will be time for lunch in just a few minutes, and I want to water the class plant now before I forget." As well as being their math teacher, Miss Benson was also their science teacher, and their class plant was part of a lab they were working on. Each day a different student watered it. "Sierra, I believe it is your turn."

Sierra nodded in a way that showed that she had absolute no wish to do it. Getting up slowly, she walked to the back of the room with the glass she had just been handed and filled it with water. She then turned and made her way to the front of class where the plant stood, aware that she was moving at an excruciatingly slow pace. Just as she passed by Hermione's desk, however, she made as if to stumble, and somehow managed to spill the water all over Hermione.

Hermione let out a small shriek as she was drenched, and then felt anger course through her. She was sure Sierra had spilt it on purpose. She glared at Sierra, waiting for the teacher to punish her somehow.

But Miss Benson only slightly frowned. "Do be more careful next time, Sierra. Hermione, you can get cleaned up at lunch."

That made Hermione even more indignant. "She did it on purpose!" she said in a high-pitched and yet angry voice.

"Nonsense," Miss Benson said, waving her hand as if to dismiss the idea. "Did you do it on purpose, Sierra?"

"Not at all, Miss Benson," she replied overly sweetly.

The whole class laughed. Even they knew Sierra had done it on purpose.

Hermione felt anger erupt inside her, past her usual indignation or hurt. She was done with letting them make fun of her, run all over her, laugh at her.

She felt the anger, and she channeled it all to one place. To which place she wasn't sure, but she could feel it all there. And then, somehow, in a way that was beyond her, she let it loose.

The glass held in Sierra's hand exploded. Shards went flying everywhere - well, to be more exact, they went flying toward Sierra. Hermione remained unscathed.

Sierra screamed. As she finally stopped moving, afraid to step on the shattered glass that surrounded her on the floor, Hermione saw how Sierra had been hurt. She had a few on her arms, and several more on her hands. She had tears streaming down her cheeks.

Hermione was in shock. She wasn't sure how, but she knew whatever had happened was entirely her own fault and doing. She started shaking.

Miss Benson meanwhile was upset. "Oh my," she said. "Oh my, oh my, oh my." She took a deep breath.

"Alright, Sierra, try to get out with as little contact with the floor as possible. Hermione, are you hurt?" She didn't pause for an answer. "Both of you, go to the nurse, and during lunch I'll have the janitor clean up the glass on the floor."

Sierra scowled. "It was her," she said, pointing at Hermione. "I don't know how she did it, but it was her!"

"Now, now," Miss Benson started, clearly unsure of what to say.

Hermione looked around the scared faces of the students. Just like her, just like Sierra, they knew she had done it.

"And," Sierra added, taking a deep breath, "you're a horrible witch, and you'll never have any friends!"

"Now, Sierra, a-apologize immediately…" Miss Benson trailed off.

Hermione felt tears pinprick her eyes. And at that moment she was sure that whatever pain Sierra was feeling from her cuts, it was nothing like the pain Hermione felt at being called a witch.

That night at dinner with her parents, Hermione was near hysterical.

"I did it! I swear I did it!"

"Darling, you couldn't have done it. How could you have broken the glass that Sierra was holding?" Mrs. Granger comforted her daughter.

"But I'm sure -"

"Dear, it was an accident. How could you have broken it?"

"Magic." The word had come out of Hermione's mouth before she had realized what she was saying, but now that she had said it, it felt right. It felt like the answer to everything that had been happening to her ever since she was a child.

Her father started laughing. "Exactly. The only way you could have broken that glass was with magic, and since we know that's impossible, you didn't break it. There, matter closed."

Hermione sighed. It was obvious her parents weren't going to believe her. But it didn't matter, because it was her fellow students that believed she was at fault for the exploding glass. Sure, they had already been making fun of her, but now she had a feeling it would get much, much worse.

That was because before, Sierra had simply made fun of Hermione because everyone else did. But now she had a personal grudge that she was going to enforce, and no one willingly went against Sierra Windsor.

_God, my life is going to be miserable_, Hermione thought unhappily.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Letter from Wizards **

Who would have known that the ring of a doorbell could start so many drastic chain of events? A doorbell seemed like such a harmless thing, after all. Then again, reflecting back on it, Hermione realized that it wasn't the doorbell that started everything. It would have happened regardless.

It had been late Sunday morning, almost noon, when the doorbell rang. Both of her parents were at home, her father reading a newspaper, her mother in the kitchen.

"Will you get that, Harold?" Mrs. Granger called at just the same time Mr. Granger said, "There's someone at the door, Susan!"

Hermione, who had her nose buried in a textbook, was the one who eventually answered the door.

She opened it to find a small man standing there. He was smiling at her, looking thoroughly excited. He had light blue eyes and fading blonde hair. He looked like he was in his late forties.

But it wasn't any of this that she first noticed. It was his distinctly purple top hat that was his most noticeable feature.

He swept it off his head and bowed. "Dedalus Diggle, at your service." He paused to study her, and his smile stretched even wider. "You must be Hermione Granger. Yes, you're just as I expected."

You can imagine how surprised Hermione felt. She didn't know, nor had ever known, any one by the name of Dedalus Diggle, and it was beyond her how he knew her.

"Are you - are you a friend of my parents?" she asked, even though she rather doubted it. He didn't seem like the type of person her parents would befriend.

"Oh no, your parents have no idea who I am." He said this in a way as if that in itself gave him the permission to be there, rather than the other way around. He stared at Hermione expectantly. Hermione, meanwhile, was at a lack of anything to say.

Just then her mother joined her, an oven mitt on one of her hands.

"Who is this, darling?"

"Dedalus Diggle," said the small man, "at your service. I've come about your daughter, Hermione Granger. She has received an offer to a very prestigious and exclusive school, and I am the representative they sent to you."

Mrs. Granger raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe we've applied anywhere. And what school is this, anyways?"

"Well, Mrs. Granger, you may not have heard of us, but we've certainly heard of your daughter. I can explain everything. Please, may I come in?"

Mrs. Granger stared at him curiously for a few moments before eventually nodding and letting him in. Shutting the door, she and Hermione followed Dedalus into the living room.

As Dedalus entered, Mr. Granger looked up from his newspaper to see who it was, and then put it down completely when he saw it was someone he didn't know.

"May I ask who you are?" he asked as he stood up from his seat and smoothed down his shirt.

"Certainly. My name is Dedalus Diggle, sir," he said, and then proceeded to bow before continuing in his speech. "I've come about an offer your daughter has received from a school."

Mr. Granger frowned slightly. "I see. And what school are we talking about?"

Dedalus smiled. "Before we go into that, we must get one fact very clear." He paused, and then, as if he had changed his mind in saying it, he started wandering around the room. With interest, he examined the living room, occasionally picking things up, or bending down to take a closer look. All was silent for several seconds except for when Dedalus Diggle muttered "Fascinating. Extremely fascinating," at some common day object.

Hermione could see that her parents were very perplexed at this strange visitor, perhaps even regretting letting him in. She couldn't exactly blame them. It was one thing to announce she had been offered a place in some school, and entirely another to start examining their living room without finishing what you had begun to say.

After about a minute, her father seemedto regain his voice. "And, um, what may this fact be?"

Dedalus whirled around to face him. "Well, the fact that your daughter's a witch, of course!" he exclaimed matter-of-factly, as if this was the first thing that should have occurred to them.

"P-P-Pardon?" her mother asked incredulously. "My daughter's - my daughter's a what?"

Mr. Granger didn't wait for Dedalus Diggle to answer. "I think that perhaps you should leave now," he said firmly.

It seemed that his suspicions that the man was half-mad had been confirmed, and now wanted to get him out as quickly as possible.

"Nonsense, I'm not hurrying anywhere. I still have plenty of time to explain things," Dedalus answered, apparently ignorant to the fact he had worn-out his welcome.

And then he looked straight at Hermione, and when he spoke next, she knew it was only to her.

"_You_ know, don't you? You've known for a while now that you're different. At your age, you can't control your powers, so there would have been signs from when you were little."

Hermione nodded, entranced by this utterly ridiculous and yet appealing idea. Once again, just as it had been when she had said the word magic, this felt as if it made sense, as if it were _the _answer to everything.

"You're a witch, Hermione Granger, and you know it. A witch, and you'll be a mighty good one at that, I can tell."

"You're - you're saying I'm a witch, and that I have…magical powers?"

Her parents seemed quite alarmed that she was taking the idea into consideration.

"Hermione…" her mother began, but Hermione ignored her.

"And that there's a school I've been accepted in, and it's for - for…"

"For young wizards and witches just like you," Dedalus Diggle supplied. He paused as if he was considering something, and then brightened. "Of course! I should have done this sooner. Here, I have proof. It's a letter, from the school." And with that he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Hermione.

She carefully took it. It was a yellowish envelope, with her address on the front written in purple ink. Slowly she opened it, and took out the two letters inside. The first letter was typed up in black, bold font and looked very official. She took a deep breath, and then started to read it aloud:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress_

Silence followed as Hermione Granger finished reading the letter. She looked up from it, and then let out a sigh.

Now, Hermione could have asked many things as she finished reading the letter.

She could have asked, out of curiosity, who Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall were.

She could have wondered, aloud, if it was possible that she was a witch, and, if it was, how she had not known her whole life .

She could have even questioned Dedalus Diggle's sanity, going so far as to ask him if he were mad.

But she did none of these things. Instead, she said, quite simply, "I don't have an owl. I'm afraid I won't be able to send a reply."

The silence stretched out even further after that, until, it seemed, Mr. Granger met his limit of how long he could remain quiet. His words were directed to Dedalus Diggle.

"My sir, if you believe that you can stride into our house, insist that our daughter is a witch and magic is real, and then give us a letter that anyone could have written as proof of this, you are dearly mistaken." He was fighting to keep his voice calm, though anyone could have seen he was upset.

Dedalus Diggle wasn't the least bit fazed by this. In fact, rather than being angry, he seemed apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I really am." He paused, and then smiled rather sheepishly. "This isn't the first time I've been sent to tell a Muggleborn they're a witch or wizard, but I am horrible at it," he said. "I always mess up the order in which you are supposed to do it - there's the letter, then the explanation, and then the demonstration. I'm quite a mess of a wizard, aren't I?"

If Dedalus Diggle was looking for reassurance that he was a good wizard, then he was certainly looking in the wrong place. The Grangers simply stared at him, flabbergasted.

"Which reminds me - the demonstration." He reached into a pocket and pulled out of it what looked like a long, thin, black stick. Hermione, however, knew that that wasn't what it was.

"It's a wand," she breathed in amazement.

Dedalus Diggle bobbed his head in delight. "She knows, she knows," he announced to Mr. and Mrs. Granger. They, however, did not share in his excitement.

"Darling, you can't really believe that…you can't really believe this is real," Mr. Granger said, though his tone was uncertain.

Hermione ignored him. "Can it do magic?" she asked.

"Why, of course!" Dedalus Diggle exclaimed, and, with a wide flourish of his hand, he purposely knocked over a vase that was standing on the mantel.

Mrs. Granger cried out as if she had been hit. "That was a present from my sister!" she exclaimed.

Dedalus didn't seem the least bit concerned. "Yes, and quite a pretty one, too," he said, as if it was pure politeness to compliment one's vase after breaking it.

"Here, let me fix it." And with that, he pointed his wand at it and said quite clearly, "Reparo!"

As if the pieces were being pulled to a magnet, they all simultaneously lifted up, and after a few seconds of swirling, they neatly joined together. The vase, fully fixed and without a scratch, gently positioned itself back on the mantel. If the Grangers hadn't just seen it smash, they wouldn't have ever known it had been broken.

"But…? How…?" Mr. Granger spluttered, utterly confused as his logical mind argued with his eyes.

Mrs. Granger, meanwhile, seemed happy that her vase had been fixed. "It's as good as new! But how is that even possible?"

"Magic!" her daughter answered assuredly.

"Magic," Mr. Granger echoed dully, shaking his head in disbelief.

Dedalus in the mean time, was pleased with himself. "You see, there is such a thing as magic."

Mr. Granger took a deep breath. "None of this should be possible," he said, looking at his wife.

She nodded. "And yet - well, we can't deny that the vase didn't just mend itself. Hermione…"

"Mum, it's real, I know it's real. I've always - I've always made things happen. Strange things that can't be explained. I have absolutely no logic to support me with saying this, but I'm a witch. I just know it."

"And this Hogwarts. Do you want to go?" her mother asked.

Hermione nodded slowly.

Mrs. Granger looked at her husband, who reluctantly also nodded.

"Then it's decided," exclaimed Dedalus Diggle. "Now, of course you need to buy your school books and other things." He pointed to the two letters still clutched in Hermione's hand. "The second paper is a supply list. It tells you what you need for school."

Hermione nodded.

"Now, you two being Muggles," he nodded politely at Mr. and Mrs. Granger, "you probably won't know where to go to buy the things needed, but I can show you the place, and help you sort things out with the money and such. Let's say we'll meet in London next Saturday, at this spot." He pulled out a piece of paper on which he wrote the address.

Handing it over to Hermione, he nodded, and then, bowing one last time, hurried out of the room, throwing an "I'll show myself out" over his shoulder.

The Grangers were silent after that for several moments. Finally, Mrs. Granger spoke.

"Well, is suppose that's that, isn't it? We have a witch in the family."


End file.
